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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27413440">Under My Skin</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Age Difference, Angst, Blowjobs, Cocaine usage, Daddy Kink, Eddie is basically yumeko jabami in one scene, Friends With Benefits, Gambling, Gun Fucking, Gun play, Hitman AU, Implied Sexual Abuse, M/M, Murder, Oral Sex, Pet Names, Self Harm, Size Difference, Trans Eddie Kaspbrak, Trans Male Character, Trauma, Vaginal Sex, age gap, baby's first commission! hehe, bonnie and Clyde dynamic, drug usage, exhilaration kink, fear kink, general trashiness, hitman - Freeform, implied child prostitution, pain play, please heed the tags yall, richie can't dress, someone please help eddie, this is sad yall</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 22:42:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,664</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27413440</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>They book it down the stairs, their footsteps echoing loudly in the concrete staircase. It always gives Eddie a rush of adrenaline, running away after a kill; Richie tells him every time he does a hit that he doesn’t need to come with him, that if Eddie gets caught he’ll be just as fucked as Richie and it’s not worth the risk, but… </p><p>...but Eddie lives for the risk. For him, it’s the best part. </p><p>It makes a heat throb in his stomach, the kind that makes him blush and run just a little faster.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>69</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Under My Skin</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hi y'all! shoutout to @roachmortem on Tumblr for commissioning me to write this fic! sorry for the lack of content lately I've been super depressed lol. anyways enjoy! please heed the tags!! (also, I apologize for the weird paragraph formatting. google docs is super weird)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“I’ll give you a blowjob if you shoot him in the head first try,” Eddie says, snuggled up against Richie in an attempt to warm up. Miami was warm in the day but got chilly at night, and he wasn’t wearing much to begin with— an oversized </span>
  <em>
    <span>Playboy </span>
  </em>
  <span>T-shirt and light blue Daisy Dukes could only do so much for him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His cowboy boots knock against the ledge of the building as Richie grunts at him, focusing down the barrel of the gun. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Look away,” he says curtly, readying his finger against the trigger. Eddie shuts his eyes, feeling the breeze against his face; the wind ruffles his hair as he faces the skyline, Miami Beach across the water. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bangbangbangbang. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s eyes open to see Richie’s jaw tensing as he unloads the shots, the vein in his forehead pulsing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sexy, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Eddie thinks dreamily as Richie murders a stranger in front of his eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go,” Richie grabs Eddie’s arm, pulling him up and away from the ledge— he lets the gun clatter down onto the roof, leaving it behind for the police to find. It would be too suspicious for Richie to walk out toting his AR-15, and his gloves made sure he couldn’t be traced to the weapon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Not a strand of DNA to be found</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he had told Eddie one night as he pulled his jacket sleeves down until they overlapped with the leather. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No face, no case. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That had been in the beginning, within that first week of them being co-conspirators. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A lot has changed since then. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They book it down the stairs, their footsteps echoing loudly in the concrete staircase. It always gives Eddie a rush of adrenaline, running away after a kill; Richie tells him every time he does a hit that he doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>need </span>
  </em>
  <span>to come with him, that if Eddie gets caught he’ll be just as fucked as Richie and it’s not worth the risk, but… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>...but Eddie lives for the risk. For him, it’s the best part. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It makes a heat throb in his stomach, the kind that makes him blush and run just a little faster. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The building is quiet, as it’s 10:30 at night on a Tuesday, but the two are still cautious as they sneak from the stairway to the apartment lobby. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Save for a doorman asleep at the front, the lobby is empty. Richie lets out a breath, his hand moving to the small of Eddie’s back protectively— they’re safe, for now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His hand doesn’t move as they leave the apartment building, throwing away the key his boss fabricated for him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie wasn’t sure when Richie had started doing that, or why; but his palm is warm and comforting against his back, letting him know that he’s safe with him, that he’ll protect him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They round the corner, their feet stepping in time as they check out the scene as inconspicuously as they can— Eddie pulls a lollipop out of his pocket, making sure to suck on it innocently to act as if he hadn’t just witnessed his boyfriend shoot someone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sure enough, a man lays in the center of the sidewalk in a pool of blood, four bullet wounds shot clean into his face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie knows what’s expected of him— immediately he begins to wail, a technique he learned from living with his mother for most of his life. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Besides him, Richie covers his mouth as if he’s going to be sick, holding tighter onto Eddie. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s a pantomime they’ve learned to perform well, rehearsed down to a science. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh!” Eddie sniffles into Richie’s shoulder, “oh, it’s just horrible!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A crowd has gathered now, people cursing and shouting at each other, everyone confused and terrified of the body in the street. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Call the police!” Someone yells, “or an ambulance, or something!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie examines the man again. He’s young, he couldn’t have been older than 30, with sandy blonde hair and muscles bulging under his shirt. His face must have been attractive before it was riddled with bullets— his head is a grotesque sight now, bloody and full of bullet wounds. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come on, babydoll,” Richie says in a mock concerned voice, “someone will get it figured out.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He leads Eddie away from the scene, his hand moving from his back to circle his lover’s waist. Eddie sniffles one last time for effect before his face falls neutral, wiping his crocodile tears away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I guess I owe you that blowjob, huh?” Eddie asks softly as they make their way down the street, earning a snort from Richie. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I get the feeling you were gonna suck me off tonight even if I missed,” he replies, signaling a cab. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For lack of better word, the motel they’re staying in is trashy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s in </span>
  <em>
    <span>un barrio </span>
  </em>
  <span>decently close to the shoreline of Miami Beach, surrounded by chain restaurants, smoke shops, weird electronic stores and litter. The sign pointing to the motel flickers as they walk through the gates, guided less by the dim street lights and more by the toxic glow of the motel pool. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie’s hand is still holding Eddie close, comforting even with the creepy atmosphere of their living space. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The lobby is empty as per usual— the couple makes their nightly trek down the hallway, Eddie staring at the trashy wall art while Richie chooses to look at the tacky motel carpet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Henry, Richie’s boss, stays just a few doors down from them; Eddie feels disgusting and wants to take a shower and sleep more than anything, but he knows the rules. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie knocks on the door to Henry’s room, sighing deeply.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Rich,” Eddie says softly, placing his hand on Richie’s big bicep, “That was fun.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re so weird,” he replies, sounding tired. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The door swings open. Henry is in his terrycloth robe, a bottle of whiskey in hand— he looks like shit, as expected. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If it ain’t the men of the hour,” he says, his voice a bit of a slur. “D’you kill him?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course I did,” Richie’s hand tightens around Eddie’s waist, “what, you think I’m fuckin’ incompetent now?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t put words in my mouth, you cunt,” Henry snaps, “Hi, Eddie.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” Eddie waves shyly, pulling closer to Richie’s side. “Henry, who was that guy Richie killed? Didn’t seem very important.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The truly important people never seem all that important to the ordinary eye, little one,” Henry says, bopping Eddie’s nose with his finger. “This guy was running a sex trafficking ring. One of those nasty kiddie-fuckers, kidnapping little girls and selling them to rich men.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie cringes at the description. “Good fucking riddance, then,” he says, goosebumps running up his arms. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Those poor girls, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thinks, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve been there before. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, if that’s all, we’ll be heading to our room now,” Richie says curtly, “say goodnight, Eds.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Night, Henry,” Eddie waves, the door shutting in their face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As soon as the door is shut Richie is looking down at Eddie, examining his profile. “You okay?” he asks, squeezing his waist. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knows it’s a sensitive topic for Eddie. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m all good,” he tells him, standing on his tiptoes to kiss his lover’s cheek. “Let’s just go back to the room.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The room isn’t any less trashy than the outside of the motel— cracks run up and down the walls, mold growing in each corner. The TV has a permanent hum to it even when it’s shut off. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie kicks off his cowboy boots and flops onto the bed, a richie following shortly after. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you wanna watch tonight? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Judge Judy </span>
  </em>
  <span>or </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maury?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Eddie asks, snuggling up against the larger man. Richie’s like a furnace, constantly warm and nice for Eddie to cuddle up to if he wants to warm up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I believe you said you owed me something,” Richie simply replies, raising an eyebrow at Eddie. Already his hand is moving to his belt buckle, tugging at the leather. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, daddy,” Eddie says softly, pulling himself away from his lover and standing at the side of the bed. “How do you want me?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Knees, facing me,” Richie pulls the belt from his pants, tossing it to the side. “Let’s make it quick, alright?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie never was one for slow, gentle sex— passionate, sure, and good, </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but he wasn’t the type to take it easy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not that Eddie is complaining, not in the slightest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie watches raptly as Richie’s fingers unzip the fly of his jeans. He doesn’t like to get fully undressed during sex either; he simply pulls his half hard cock from his fly, stroking it halfheartedly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His cock is… for lack of better word, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking huge. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At least 8 inches (and probably more, it wasn’t like Eddie had pulled out a ruler and measured it), it’s long and thick, with a red dripping head and full, heavy balls underneath it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Even after all this time, it still startles Eddie just a bit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are you waiting for? Gonna introduce yourself to it first, slut?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie flushes, his cheeks turning cherry red as he grips the base. He’d given plenty of blowjobs before he met Richie, far more than </span>
  <em>
    <span>any </span>
  </em>
  <span>16 year old should have given, but as soon as he’d become legal Richie had shown him how to do it </span>
  <em>
    <span>right. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wraps his pink lips around the head, licking the precum from the slit with the tip of his tongue. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Richie grunts, bracing himself against the bed as his knuckles turn white from gripping the sheets. He’s an old man, in his mid 40s— sometimes Eddie wishes he had met him when he was younger, when he could last </span>
  <em>
    <span>much </span>
  </em>
  <span>longer during sex. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie just pushes himself down further, until the head hits the back of his throat; he’s nowhere near close to taking half of Richie, but he knows he can. He’s done it before.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hollows his cheeks instead, letting himself drag up and down the older man’s shaft, drooling all over Richie’s dick like a girl in a porno. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His mom had told him when he was 15 that men liked it when you got their dicks extra wet. Maybe that wasn’t the best advice to carry with him into his new life, but Richie liked it, so to hell with it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looks up at Richie with those big, innocent eyes of his as he takes a few more inches down his throat. It hurts, tears springing to his eyes as he begins to gag, but mama didn’t raise no quitter, she raised a prostitute. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good boy,” Richie coos, his hands coming to entangle themselves in Eddie’s curls. “How about you take that extra inch for me? I’m gonna give you a push.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before Eddie can respond, Richie shoves his head down until his nose is buried in his pubic hair. Eddie chokes around his cock, accidentally coating it with another layer of spit, but Richie just moans, his hips stilling. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So good,” he coos as he pulls Eddie away slowly; saliva drips off his shaft with each inch Eddie leaves uncovered, until his lips are barely resting against the tip. “Hold your mouth open. I’ll do the work from here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s jaw unhinges obediently, Richie’s grip in his hair tightening before he fucks sharply into his mouth— Eddie doesn’t choke this time, but it still hits the back of his throat almost painfully as Richie begins to fuck into his mouth, his hips thrusting in and out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s times like these when Eddie is reminded that Richie sees him nothing more as a sex doll, but maybe those are the best times. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Richie grunts, his cock getting wetter with each thrust down Eddie’s right throat. “Shit, I’m not gonna last!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s eyes flutter shut as he takes the dick down his throat obediently, knowing any minute Richie will—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He tenses as Richie pulls him all the way back down, his nose against his stomach as he deepthroats his dick. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, god!” Richie groans. Seconds later Eddie feels cum spurt down his throat, dripping down his esophagus grossly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tears spring to his eyes as Richie’s cock brushes against his throat, teasing his gag reflex to the maximum. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But in an instant Richie’s pulled out, his hands cupping Eddie’s face with a tenderness that wasn’t there moments before. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie winces as he swallows his cum, leaning his cheek into Richie’s palm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re so good,” Richie coos, his thumb sliding over Eddie’s lips. Eddie takes it into his mouth without a second thought. “Look at you go, babydoll.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie can’t help but giggle at Richie, looking up at him through his lashes; he lives for moments like these, when Richie allows himself to be the slightest bit vulnerable, to let those brown eyes of his shine with something akin to affection instead of complete hate and a desire to </span>
  <em>
    <span>kill. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie helps him onto the bed, yawning as he does so. “I’ll return the favor tomorrow, dumpling,” he says, tucking his dick back into his pants. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie feels sleep beginning to overcome him as well as Richie tucks him under the thin motel-provided blankets. “Sleepy?” Richie asks as he slides in next to him, his stomach pressing against the younger man’s back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mhm,” Eddie murmurs, “Night, Rich.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie just grunts into his neck, Eddie’s eyes fluttering shut as Richie’s muscled arm wraps tightly around his waist. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie lies awake, listening to the younger boy’s breaths rise and fall. His nose is buried in his yellow curls, inhaling the smell of his mild shampoo. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knows it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>wrong for them to be doing this. They’re friends with benefits, and that’s it. Friends with benefits shouldn’t cuddle, they shouldn’t call each other pet names. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie pushes down the guilt in his chest, simply soaking in Eddie’s presence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t deserve him, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thinks guiltily, </span>
  <em>
    <span>he deserves better. So much better than a scumbag like me. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And yet, Eddie doesn’t move; he simply sleeps through the night, Richie eventually joining him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>___</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Going out 2 get some snuff + red bull + chips. brb. love you, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Richie scrawls onto a post-it note, sticking it on the front of the TV. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie is asleep in their bed, looking angelic even when he’s unconscious. His long lashes cast shadows on his face in the sunlight, petal pink lips parted and letting out soft breaths. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie hates how his heart flutters. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s gorgeous— but sometimes, times like this when Richie looks at him for too long, all he can see is that 16 year old he’d picked up on the side of the street. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had been a toasty July day in Derry, Maine. Richie wasn’t planning on staying in the shitty little town for very long; he had a client here to kill off, some guy who owed another guy drug money. A small job, something he could get done within the evening and get back to Portland early morning. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had been early twilight when he’d pulled up to a truck stop/diner combination, reportedly the place where his target had dinner and a drink every night. A few cars were parked around, none of them new or good looking, but other than that the place seemed pretty abandoned— good news for him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d tucked his gun beneath the waistband of his jeans and made his way into the diner, the smell of cigarette smoke and meat wafting around him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But something caught his eye on the way in— a flash of blonde hair nestled underneath a steering wheel in an old pickup truck, thick fingers tangled in the strands. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Short, fluffy blonde hair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The head pulled away to reveal a face; Richie couldn’t tell if it was masculine or feminine. Their face was smeared with makeup, red lipstick and dark eyeshadow, mascara streaking down their face as they looked at the person above them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They looked totally, utterly, fucked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The person, who Richie could only assume was a man, shoved a hearty bundle of cash into the boy (at least, he thought it was a boy’s) mouth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Within minutes the boy came stumbling out of the truck, all long, slender legs and eyes like a doe’s. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked like he hadn’t eaten in ages, and all the makeup slathered on his face made him look like some</span>
</p><p>
  <span>sort of sad, whorish clown. He wasn’t wearing much, either— a stained pink t-shirt that read </span>
  <em>
    <span>Baby Slut </span>
  </em>
  <span>over a pair of too-small jean shorts. He looked completely, utterly, miserable. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The worst part was that for the first time in ages, Richie actually felt bad for someone else. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, kid,” he called out to him, “C’mere.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In an instant, the boy wiped his cheeks and put his hands on his hips to walk towards Richie. “Handjobs are $20. Blowjobs are $40. A fuck is $60, but it’s $90 if you wanna fuck without a rubber.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course, you can’t get mad at me if you get a fuckin’ STD from that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kid-“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And add another $10 if you want me to call you daddy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” Richie finally shut him up, “Let me buy you dinner. You look fuckin’ starved.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I ain’t starved. I have high metabolism,” the boy sniffed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t care. I wanna buy you a meal.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You do realize that won’t get you a discount off my prices, right? ‘Cause-“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want that from you,” Richie softened his tone a bit; the boy isn’t any older than sixteen, and he looks like he was just crying. The last thing he needs is to be yelled at right now. “I just wanna feed you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The boy gave him a sceptical look, his hands still on his hips. “Fine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s your name, kid?” Richie asked as they enter the diner, finding a booth near the entrance. The boy doesn’t answer at first— he simply examines the menu. “Hm? Are you deaf or something?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Babydoll,” the boy replied. “That’s what everyone calls me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s not your real name, is it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you stupid? Of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course </span>
  </em>
  <span>that’s not my real name,” Babydoll grinned, “You don't just give your name out to strangers.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Pretty gender neutral. I can’t tell if you’re a boy or a girl,” Richie examined him over his menu. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I was born a girl, but I’m a boy. I only let my clients go through the back door,” he replied, dragging his finger over the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Seafood </span>
  </em>
  <span>section. “Ugh, who orders seafood in a diner? I feel like if you do that the lobster starts singing a soliloquy from </span>
  <em>
    <span>Les Mis</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie couldn’t help but snort at that quip. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You have a job to do, Tozier. Don’t let yourself get distracted. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I wanna know your real name,” Richie propped his chin up on his hand, “seeing as I have no intentions of fucking you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aw, really? Even though you’re wining and dining me?” Babydoll pouted, “Is it ‘cause I’m not your type?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s because </span>
  <em>
    <span>children</span>
  </em>
  <span> aren’t my type,” Richie looked him up and down, “and munchkins aren’t either.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Babydoll huffed indignantly, kicking his feet under the table. “I’m not a child. I’m sixteen,” he tried to justify. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Still a child. And,” Richie raised an eyebrow, “still illegal to be having sex with grown men.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Babydoll’s cheeks flushed redder under his blush. “If I tell you my name, you gotta promise me you won’t tell anyone else.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Pinky promise,” Richie extended his pinky out towards the boy, who reluctantly links their pinkies together and shakes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My real name’s Eddie,” he said in a hushed voice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It suits him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nice go meet you, Eddie. ‘M Richie. You got a last name?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s not important.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A waiter (who seemed to recognize Eddie) came and took their orders— Eddie ordered a ribeye steak with barbecue sauce and extra fries, on top of a large diet coke. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How the fuck is he so skinny when he eats like that? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Richie had wondered that night. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He found out hours later when the boy had taken shelter in Richie’s truck, pulling out a vial of white powder, a laundry card and a dollar bill. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sharing. Sorry,” Eddie grunted as he cut up the cocaine into lines on the dashboard, “this shit’s expensive. I have molly if you want it, though. I’ll share that, I don’t like it that much.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m alright,” he brushed off the comment, watching Eddie’s lashes flutter against his cheeks as he sniffed up a line of coke. “Where’re you headed after this?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m supposed to go back to my mom’s house. She’ll wanna take the money I made tonight,” Eddie replied, sniffing loudly again. “I don’t really wanna go back, though.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie’s mouth moved before his brain did— “After tonight, I’m skipping this shithole town. You could come with me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Weren’t you just preaching a while ago about how I’m a child?” Eddie asked snidely, re-rolling his dollar bill. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t wanna lay a hand on you. Not ‘til you’re eighteen, at least,” he replied, earning a snort from the boy. “My job makes me move around a lot, so we won’t be easy to track.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let me guess. Travelling salesman?” Eddie said snarkily. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nope. I think you know what it is.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie simply nodded, finishing off his final line with an aggressive sniff. “Well, I won’t snitch unless you’re stupid about it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie had murdered the guy that night behind the truck stop, and the next morning they were on the road. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie had filled in a bit since then. He’s still skinny, but he doesn’t look starved. His skin is clearer and his hair doesn’t fall out in clumps as much as it used to. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course, he could be a rotting corpse and Richie would still think he’s not half bad. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe that was the bad part, though— Richie had never expected to feel so… </span>
  <em>
    <span>strongly </span>
  </em>
  <span>for Eddie. They’d had sex for the first time on the night of Eddie’s eighteenth birthday, rough and hot, and their relationship had turned to something like friends with benefits, but that was it, right? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I mean, sure, they cuddled occasionally, and used pet names, but Richie wasn't in love. And he certainly didn’t want Eddie to be either. That would just be cruel, he thinks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a corner store a few blocks down from the motel; Richie looks like shit in his purple bowling shirt and khakis that made Eddie gag every time he wore them, but so did everyone else in Miami. No one looks good here. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He keeps his head down as he makes his purchases, still feeling on edge from the night before— after all, news coverage is blasting on the small TV by the checkout counter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Red Bull? Check. BBQ chips? Check. Green tea for Eddie? Check. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He dumps his purchases on the counter. “I’ll take a Snow White card for a 20th birthday,” he tells the man at the counter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They’d been in Miami long enough that they knew how the drugs got around. Snow White meant coke, 20th birthday meant 20 grams. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He leaves the store with his plastic bag in one hand, the other shoved into his pocket. Eddie will be fluttering awake by now, stretching out his pale arms and rolling around in the sunlight— he wakes up like a cat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sure enough, Eddie has stirred by the time Richie enters the motel room; his arms are stretched up into the air, his too-small shirt exposing the bottom half of his chest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Morning, babydoll,” Richie says, setting the plastic bag on the table. “Had a good snooze?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nah. Had another nightmare,” Eddie replies nonchalantly, resting against the headboard. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That sucks. Want me to eat you out?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sounds good,” Eddie nicks the blankets off his legs to reveal his silk shorts riding up his thighs. “C’mere.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Want me to do that thing you like, baby?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>god </span>
  </em>
  <span>yes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie grabs his gun from his pocket, turning the safety on and throwing it beside Eddie’s thigh. “In a minute,” he tells him, pulling his shorts down with one hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s cunt is already pink and glistening. His legs are spread as if he’s the centerfold in a porno magazine, the pose wanton and compromising. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Was that a </span>
  <em>
    <span>wet </span>
  </em>
  <span>dream?” Richie asks teasingly as he spreads his boyfriend’s folds, examining the pretty pink of his insides. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fear turns me on,” Eddie replies simply, letting himself relax into the pillows. “C’mon.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Within an instant, Richie’s long tongue is licking up Eddie’s folds. His lover moans softly, crackling in the back of his throat— Eddie’s moans are always throaty and gruff, especially in the morning. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You taste fucking good,” Richie says softly before diving his tongue into Eddie’s cunt, licking at him like he’s the sweetest dessert on earth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shit,” Eddie grunts, his thighs wrapping around Richie’s head. His hair spreads out against the pillow like a blonde halo as Richie eats him out, his tongue working into the deepest folds of him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sunlight is warm against Richie’s back as he licks Eddie’s cock with a heavy tongue, his hands gripping his boy’s hips and leaving bruises for weeks to come; he knows Eddie won’t last long, he never does in the mornings. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Instead he grabs his gun from where he’d thrown it, and hacks up a gob of spit. He spits it against the barrel, watching it drip down the side— before he can stop himself he licks it, his tongue sliding along the cool metal. Eddie watches him with wide eyes, his legs spread and cunt throbbing as Richie turns the safety on. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re so fucking good,” he whispers as the front sight of the gun nudges are Eddie’s entrance. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stop fucking teasing- </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Eddie gasps as the barrel of the gun slides into his cunt, his hole stretching to accommodate the weapon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In an instant, Richie’s fucking the gun in and out of his partner, spitting into his cunt as he does so, his finger on the trigger. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The safety is on, and even if it wasn’t, the gun has no bullets in it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Richie knows the fucking isn’t what turns Eddie on when they do this; he knows that the act itself isn’t that pleasuring, Eddie had told him himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s the idea that the gun could fire into him, destroying his guts in an entirely different way than he normally does. That pain, that risk— Eddie gets high off it. It’s the same reason he comes along with Richie when they go on hits; he needs the adrenaline, that rush of exhilaration when his life's on the line. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The thing is, Eddie doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> that the gun is unloaded, or that the safety mode is on. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When they do this, Richie knows he’s waiting for him to pull the trigger, send a bullet ricocheting through his organs and into his skull. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Richie could never do that. Maybe it makes him weak, or maybe it just makes him a decent person. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re past being a decent person, Richie. You’re a monster. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Daddy,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Eddie moans, snapping him back into the present. The gun sliding between his folds is mesmerizing, each thrust into him making the gun come back wet with arousal. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Eddie whimpers, his thighs shaking as Richie’s gun slides deeper, deeper into him. “Richie, baby, please-“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie knows what he wants. His thumb rubs against Eddie’s cock in small circles as he finally pulls the barrel out of his cunt—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh!” Eddie screams as he squirts all over the bedsheets, his cum flicking all over the barrel of the gun and Richie’s shirt. He trembles all over as his head hits the pillow, wide eyes staring up at Richie. “Oh…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good boy,” Richie soothes, rubbing a big hand up the side of Eddie’s thigh. “Here, lick.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The barrel of the gun presses against Eddie’s petal pink lips, and as if it's a second instinct his tongue licks up the side of it. His own arousal catches on his taste buds, and god, he’s like a sight from a porno mag— his lips seal around the front sight, sucking on the gun like it’s a dick. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, babydoll,” Richie groans, easing the gun out of his boyfriend’s mouth. “What a darling.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie grins at him with spit-shiny lips, a string of saliva connecting his lips to the gun. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Any plans for today?” Richie asks, putting the gun back on the nightstand and standing up to stretch. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh uh,” Eddie shakes his head, sitting up— Richie’s shirt rides up as he stretches his arms above his head, and he can feel Eddie run his fingertips down his spine affectionately. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How about you? Plans?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie shakes his head, sitting down next to his partner in crime. “Nope.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie rolls Richie onto his side, pushing him down on the bed. They fall into their go-to snuggle position; legs intertwined, Eddie’s head tucked under Richie’s chin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think we’re gonna leave Miami soon,” Richie comments absentmindedly as his fingers begin to card through Eddie’s blonde curls. “How’s that sound?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie simply hums. “Sounds nice,” he says, “I do like it here, though.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s there to like, babydoll?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Warm weather. Good coke. That lady who does my nails is real nice too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie just laughs. “There are other nail ladies in the world, Eds.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The motel room is quiet, save for Eddie’s breathing. He’s so warm, yet so… frail, as if he could collapse under the pressure of Richie’s arms, if any moment he could disappear and leave Richie with a cold bed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe that would be for the best, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Richie thinks solemnly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe Eddie would go somewhere where he should actually be. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>___</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Even though the bar is close to empty tonight, the waiter is still as discreet as he can be as he ushers Richie and Eddie into the sliding door behind the cupboards. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>El Rosé was a shitty bar a few blocks from the motel— recipient of the USDA’s first ever “J rating”, the customers it attracted were few and far between, but in the end, that was great for business. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The scene that happened behind the shuffling cupboards brought in plenty of money on its own. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The club is dark, save for the low primary-colored lights flashing across the floor. Eddie is glued tight against Richie’s side, his eyes already scanning the floor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When they weren’t fucking or doing drugs, gambling was their third favorite activity. Eddie practically has the luck of the Gods on his side, and Richie is too smart for the other player’s good. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And it was one of those things, like watching Richie kill, that gave Eddie that burning sensation all over his body and brought a blush to his cheeks. The thrill of it all, of being able to lose all his cash or something even </span>
  <em>
    <span>worse</span>
  </em>
  <span> with one wrong move, it made his heart beat like a hummingbird’s. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Immediately, a table is calling over to Eddie. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Babydoll!” one of them calls, a stack of poker chips in front of them. “We’re playing Texas Hold ‘Em, these fellas wanna see what you’ve got.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mm. Regular?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course not. We’re only on our first round,” the guy grins, “you can keep playing once you run out of chips, if you bet a finger.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A knife glints next to the player’s hand. “Don’t be ridiculous,” Eddie sniffs, “you know I have no reason for extra fingers laying around.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah? Or are you just a coward?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie chuckles, his fingers curling over the handle. “That’s a dumb accusation to make of me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Baby,” Richie warns, watching raptly as Eddie picks the knife up. “We just got here, don’t cause a scene already.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately for Richie, Eddie </span>
  <em>
    <span>lives </span>
  </em>
  <span>for making a good entrance. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know what I hate? I despise it when people underestimate me,” his hand unwinds from Richie’s, laying itself onto the table. “And for you to make the assumption that I’m a coward, that I’m afraid of losing a finger…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Eddie,” Richie’s hand grabs his shoulder— the blade of the knife rests against Eddie’s knuckles. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll chop all four of them off,” Eddie snarls, “I’ll fucking do it!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His cheeks are flushed pink, and his eyes sparkle like a girl in one of those animated Japanese pornos; and despite the barbaric words coming out of his mouth, a grin spreads across his lips, his tongue almost lolling out of his mouth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Eddie, stop it,” Richie attempts to grab the knife before anything worse can happen. As soon as it’s in his hand he pushes a little too hard, and the blade slices through Eddie’s palm. Eddie moans wantonly as he bleeds out, blood staining the cards on the table crimson. “Shit!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t fret, my darling,” Eddie replies, his cheeks glowing red, “Enough with the theatrics. I’ll play.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He slides into the booth, motioning to the dealer to give him his chips and his cards. “Eddie,”  Richie warns again, “Your hand…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll deal with it later,” Eddie brushes it off, picking up the two cards he’d been dealt. “Well?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pushes his Ante in, examining the other players. They look afraid of him, hiding behind their drinks-- he smirks to himself, as he watches the cards get dealt out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spades of 3, spades of 4, spades of 7. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bingo. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“How about you start the bet, babydoll?” The dealer asks Eddie, who finally looks at his cards for the first time. Spades of 2, spades of 5. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ha. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He pushes a $1000 chip in, watching the men’s faces shift in discomfort. Murmurs surround the club, including some from Richie.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well? I don’t have all day,” Eddie sighs, “place your bets.” To his surprise, no one folds-- but no one raises either. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The dealer puts down the next card. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Spades of 6. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Come to mama, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Eddie thinks to himself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>looks like I’m getting a royal flush. Luck, be a lady tonight. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He throws in $5000 worth of chips, his face stoic and unchanging as he surveys the other men. Their poker faces aren’t as good, unfortunately— it makes him want to giggle. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Here they are, all dressed in their three piece suits and fancy sunglasses, getting scared of a boy who’s just short of being a hooker and wearing a crop top that says ‘mega milk’. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Three of them fold, two of them match his bets. Richie’s fingernails dig into his shoulder, a silent warning to </span>
  <em>
    <span>not fuck this up. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s fingers cross under the table as the dealer places the final card. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Come on, come on, come on. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He slaps down the spades of 8, proving to Eddie that God is, in fact, real. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pushes in all of his money. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The folded players gawk at him, not having to worry about their poker faces anymore— he simply stares back expectantly, his long eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Luck, I owe you one. Thanks for doing the mathematically impossible. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie tenses beside him, a short gasp coming out of him as the two final players match his bet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Show your cards, gentlemen.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The first had two pairs, the second a full house. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Eddie sighs, “I’m afraid neither of those beat a royal flush.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their faces drop as he whacks his cards down, gasps erupting throughout the room. “I’ll take my money, pretty please.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s not too interested in how these men got their money— he knows where he and Richie got his, and he can’t imagine they got their bag any more ethically. Hell, some of them probably dabbled in the shit that Eddie was involved in as a kid. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It just makes victory sweeter</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Put it on my card, you know better than that.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you want to play another round?” Richie asks from beside him, even though Eddie knows damn well he’s getting a migraine just from watching Eddie play. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No. I’m bored. I wanna get McDonalds and go home,” he huffs, “and besides, I can’t walk through this neighborhood carting my money around. Jesus, Rich!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He cheated!” one of the players shouts, jabbing a finger at Eddie. “That song of a bitch cheated, you hear? Everyone knows a royal flush is virtually impossible!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Virtually. Not entirely, silly,” Eddie replies, flipping one of the chips in his hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why else would you only wanna play one round? You rigged the deck, and now you ain’t got nowhere to go!” another says. Various shouts start to come up from around the table, and Eddie’s already readying his fake waterworks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he fusses, “the dealer can vouch for me. Isn’t that right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The dealer nods as he shuffles the cards. “You saw me shuffle them before the game started, gentlemen. He’s just had a stupid stroke of luck.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Little slut cheated, I swear to god!” one of the men lunges across the table, “let me teach him a goddamn lesson!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” Richie’s gun is out in an instant, shining under the fluorescent lights and pointed straight at the man’s face. “Don’t you dare touch him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What? You think you actually have the balls to kill me?” the man snarls, sweat beading on his forehead. “I don’t think twinkerbelle over there is suitable to see that happen, and you know it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Please. You and I both know he’s balls to the wall fucking insane,” Richie says, his finger on the trigger, “he could handle it. Now, I suggest you quit accusing him of cheating before you have a bullet in your skull, yeah?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>On cue, Eddie starts his sniffles, balling his fists up and huffing at the man. “You’re such a meanie! My daddy’s gonna kill you!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The hell is wrong with this kid?” Someone says from beside him, someone else tagging in with something along the lines of calling him ‘jailbait’. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m eighteen, so shut the fuck up,” he whines, “and you guys should be </span>
  <em>
    <span>glad </span>
  </em>
  <span>we’re not playing another round! Last I checked, the rules still say you havta give a finger if you wanna keep playing without chips.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The two men look down at their measly amount of remaining chips and sigh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Baby. Let’s go,” Richie growls in his ear, “Now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aw, looks like he made the babysitter mad,” one of the men sneers, “How d’ya bet he’ll make it up to him?” He looks Eddie up and down as if he’s a piece of meat, his eyes lingering on his ass.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie simply leans over and spits in his drink, spinning on his heel and grabbing onto Richie’s arm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie is silent as they walk through the club, every eye on them until the door slams behind them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie knows Richie is pissed at him-- his hand is still bleeding, and he winces as the chilly air blows against the cut. The heat of the moment is gone, and that exhilaration that fills his body when he gambles has left, leaving him feeling drained.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie still hasn’t said a word, but his grip on Eddie’s waist says enough. “What, did you seriously think I was going to lose?” Eddie asks flippantly in an attempt to hide his nervousness.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That was stupid and you know it,” Richie replies, “We could have lost everything. Do you understand me?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know I’m good at poker. Always have been,” Eddie snaps, “Would it kill you to trust my intuition a bit?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Bullshit,” Richie says, his hand on Eddie’s waist tightening. “It’s a game of luck. You can only ride that stupid lucky streak of yours for so long. You could have lost your fucking fingers, you damn bimbo.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“But I didn’t,” Eddie grins, wiggling his fingers in Richie’s face triumphantly. “‘S just a scratch, anyways.” He brings his palm to his lips, licking up the blood drying in his wound-- Richie can only stare, a mix of disgust and anger on his face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t like you gambling our shit away without my permission. You need to learn to control your temper,” he mumbles, and Eddie knows that the conversation is going to end there, period. Of course, he’s not happy about it; he grumbles and holds onto Richie’s arm the whole way home, but he sure as hell isn’t happy about it. Frustration radiates off Richie, even as he unlocks their motel room and kicks his shoes off-- his eyes don’t meet Eddie’s, and he glowers as Eddie stretches like a cat across their bed. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Well, goodnight,” Eddie sighs, turning over onto his stomach, “‘m sleepy. Aw, damn, we didn’t get McDonalds--”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Oh, you think you’re getting away with that little stunt you pulled back there?” Richie finally speaks, unbuttoning the top button of his awful purple bowling shirt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m too tired,” Eddie grumbles, still letting Richie’s hand make its way up his shirt. Richie’s palms slide the fabric up, letting Eddie’s tits fall free— “easy, cowboy,” Eddie warns, and Richie knows he doesn’t want his hands near his chest for a while. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re gonna get yourself killed one day,” Richie says, a hand wrapping around Eddie’s throat, “hell, probably both of us. I just gotta fuck you as many times as possible before you do.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh please,” Eddie giggles, relaxing into Richie’s chest as his lover kisses up his neck, “I bet you’ll still be able to get it up for me when my body is cold.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re a sick fuck,” Richie grumbles, biting a mark into Eddie’s collarbone. Eddie just giggles again, letting Richie’s hands roam down his chest and up his thighs— Richie’s hands are warm and comforting against his skin, trailing across the waistband of his shorts. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shut up and fuck me,” Eddie replies, “please?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie doesn’t respond— he simply pulls the shorts down, exposing the lace of the panties Eddie stole from Victoria’s Secret. “Impatience will get you nowhere, little one,” he tells him sternly, patting his lap. “Sit. You know what to do.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie huffs, but doesn’t protest— he lays himself over Richie’s lap, settling his head on top of his arms. “You need to be more careful. You know this,” Richie says as he caresses the curve of Eddie’s ass, “now, be a good pet and count for me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie braces for impact, and yelps when Richie’s hand comes down hard on his cheek. “One!” he gasps. Richie’s hand comes down again, “Two!” and again, “th- ahh- three!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And eventually Eddie’s brain is turned into mush, half baked numbers falling out of his mouth until he hits “f-f-fifteen.” Even though the spanking went over his panties, his cheeks are still red and aching as Richie’s hand smooths over them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s my good boy,” Richie says softly, pulling the fabric down Eddie’s legs, “so good for me.” Even though he’s whimpering, he can tell Eddie’s cunt is soaked from the wet spot on the crotch of his panties. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Quit- quit teasing me,” Eddie mumbles, sliding his shirt off and throwing it somewhere in the room. “Just do whatever you- </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie’s fingers are rubbing against his folds, teasing him brutally. “I like watching you squirm,” he says casually as he hooks his fingers under the fabric, pulling the panties down Eddie’s legs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No shit, sherlock,” Eddie mumbles, “you wouldn’t be such a dick to me if you weren’t.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You talk a lot of shit for someone who’s unarmed. I have a gun, in case your tiny brain has forgotten,” Richie says, and Eddie stifles a gasp. He knows Richie doesn’t mean that, he’d never hurt him like that, but… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maybe that’s the only way you can get me to behave,” he teases, pulling himself off Richie’s lap. “Putting a gun to my head.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie looks at him incredulously as he presses up against him, kissing the older man’s neck cutely. “You really are fucking insane,” he says softly. Eddie just giggles, his lips soft against Richie’s Adam’s Apple. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And you’re not even hard yet,” Eddie notes, nibbling at his earlobe. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m slowing down,” Richie admits, tilting his head for Eddie to get a better angle. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, ‘cause you’re an old man,” Eddie giggles, his fingers brushing along Richie’s sideburns— “look, you’re going gray.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Richie sighs, “you don’t have to remind me…” He gasps softly as Eddie begins to palm at him, helping him get half hard. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Go pop a viagra and maybe you’ll feel better,” Eddie whispers in his ear, his palm grinding against Richie’s cock, “It’ll be worth it. Older men do it best.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie can’t help but stiffen at that, his fists curling into the sheets as his erection grows harder. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I saw how those men looked at me tonight, during the game. ‘M not that stupid,” Eddie says lowly, “I know they all wanted me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t flatter yourself,” Richie groans, moving to unzip his fly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not. I can read old men like books,” Eddie helps him slide his pants off, “they all wanted to eat me up like some little prostitute. You included.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His chin hooks onto Richie’s shoulder as he pulls his cock out of his boxers; Richie moans, his head tilting back as Eddie continues his filthy speech. “I wanted them too, Rich. I wanted them to stuff every one of my holes like the filthy cum dumpster I am,” he breathes, “but I’m sure you could tell.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“God, you’re a slut,” Richie says dumbly, his brain only half functioning as Eddie’s small hand jerks him off. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But you know why I didn’t let them, Rich? ‘Cause none of ‘em would be able to satisfy me,” Eddie says, “no one can fuck me like you can, daddy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Please, don’t let this kid be falling in love with me, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Richie thinks faintly as Eddie straddles his lap, his cunt pressing up against his dick. “I know I’m just a sex toy to you, but no one can fuck me like you can,” he continues, his hips grinding down against Richie’s thighs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And Richie can see a hint of sadness in his eyes when he says that, even if his tone is wanton. Guilt starts to form in the pit of his stomach, but fuck, Eddie must be fine, right? He’s strong willed, if he hated it so much he’d have left already. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t even noticed Eddie hovering above his cock, their chests pressed together. “Please,” he pants softly, “Richie.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie thrusts his hips up, burying his cock into Eddie’s heat. He’s still tight and hot, and he whimpers as Richie sinks into him— he’s tough, but that doesn’t make his pussy any bigger. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It hurts,” he mumbles, easing himself down until Richie’s completely inside him, their thighs bracketing each other’s. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ll get used to it. You always do, pumpkin,” Richie reminds him gently, refusing to look him in the eye. Eddie clenches around him, his fingernails digging into his shoulders; his breathing is labored, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit, </span>
  </em>
  <span>it shouldn’t turn Richie on as much as it does. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“C’mon, kiddo. You know what to do,” he taps his cheek, and Eddie nods solemnly. He rises up a few inches, only to fall back down again, gasping as he does so. Pretty quickly he falls into a rhythm— up, down, up, down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And god, he looks so beautiful. His lashes fanned out across his cheeks, cherry lips popped open in a pretty ‘o’ shape, he looks like a painting underneath the awful motel lighting. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie could almost kiss him, like he means it; not like the hickeys they gave each other or playful neck kisses Eddie gave him, but a real, soft, lover’s kiss. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s hips slam down, snapping him out of his fantasy. “Fuck!” Richie swears, gripping the sheets behind him as Eddie rides him up and down like a bunny. His tiny tits bounce as he moves, a self-conscious hand coming to cover them up. “Don’t,” he gasps, pulling the hand away as Eddie bounces, staring at his partner’s torso almost rudely. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stop looking,” Eddie says softly, grabbing Richie’s purple bowling shirt and throwing it over his skinny arms. It’s disappointing, but Richie knows better than to push; if he fucks it up, Eddie will get off him, leaving him a hard, leaking mess, and frankly, he doesn’t wanna deal with that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s cunt feels amazing though, sucking him in with each bounce from the younger man. His cock presses deep into him, into his guts and pressing an outline of his length into Eddie’s tummy. “That’s a good boy,” he grunts, his knuckles turning white as he grips the bedsheets. “So fucking good for me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie won’t look at him, bracing himself against the bed as he rides his cock. His cheeks are a pretty shade of pink, and tears are beginning to well up in his eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s just pain, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Richie assures himself, grabbing into Eddie’s hip and fucking harder into him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“God, I’m close. I’m fucking close,” he pants, his thumb rubbing circles into the skin on Eddie’s hip. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You- you’re so old,” Eddie quips, “can’t even keep it up that long.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Watch your tone, kiddo,” Richie warns, pulling himself up to grab Eddie’s warm body— his hands instinctively pull the bowling shirt down Eddie’s shoulders, exposing his slim frame as he fucks himself down against Richie’s cock. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Will you kiss me?” Eddie asks in a gasp, his tits pressed against Richie’s chest. “Please?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why would I do that?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Because I want to kiss you. Please?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before he can respond, Richie’s gone from bouncing to grinding his hips, his lips soft and cherry flavored against Richie’s. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s soft, and sickly sweet, and the feeling of Eddie’s lips on his is enough for Richie to cum hard, spurting seed deep into Eddie’s cervix. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie pushes Richie back against the pillows, his cock still buried deep inside him. He kisses him hard, like he’s been waiting to do this for ages; and it’s exactly how Richie thought it would be, hot and reckless, just like his firecracker of a partner in crime. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why are you doing this?” he asks hazily in between kisses, when Eddie moves back to catch his breath. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It feels right,” he replies simply, pressing another kiss to Richie’s lips. His cock is still pressed deep into his insides, barely missing his cervix, cum seeping out of Eddie’s cunt by the second. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And Richie knows he needs to stop before he gets carried away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says softly, helping Eddie sit up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He runs a shower for Eddie, setting out a towel and a fresh pair of clothes for him, then changes into some new clothes of his own. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And he thinks about how Eddie felt kissing him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They’d never done that before— sure, harmless affection like neck kisses and hickeys had happened, but they were partners. Friends with benefits. That was it, wasn’t it? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie comes out in his night clothes, his curls shining and cheeks still stained pink. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie’s heart skips a beat, and he knows that’s not all it is. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Eddie lays down next to him, resting on his shoulder. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Eddie?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mm?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Promise me something.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie sits up, looking at him expectantly. “Sure, anything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Promise me you’ll never fall in love with me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s look turns from curious to incredulous. “What? Don't flatter yourself,” he giggles, laying back down, “don’t worry. I’m not gonna fall in love with you, Rich.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Richie replies, ruffling his hair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s a weird request, but you’re welcome,” Eddie replies, barely finishing his sentence before he gets hit with a yawn. “Goodnight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>___</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie wakes up early the next morning, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Richie’s on the other side of the bed, turned away from him and tucked into himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It almost hurts Eddie’s feelings. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What was that conversation about last night? </span>
  </em>
  <span>he wonders, snuggling back into the comforter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d never fall in love with Richie. Richie was old and mean. The only thing Eddie found him good for was sex and drugs and paying for shit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But still, looking at him in the early morning light when the sun hits the silver hairs in his sideburns, his heart hurts just a little bit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Even when he was a brat, when he huffed and disobeyed him, Richie had always taken care of him. He didn’t do it gracefully or without complaint, but he still did it when he didn’t have to. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And Eddie was forever indebted to him because of it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Stupid, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Eddie thinks childishly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>forcing me to be in debt with him. I shouldn’t owe him shit! </span>
  </em>
  <span>He crosses his arms and turns the other way, his back facing Richie. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He reminds himself that the cuddles, the pet names, the sex means nothing, and tries to fall back asleep. But Richie is snoring, and he lies awake listening to him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That is, until there's a knock on the door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie doesn’t stir, so Eddie throws on the cheap, motel provided terry cloth robe and opens the door, glaring at whoever decided to come knocking at 7:30 in the morning on a Sunday. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s Henry, his arms crossed. “Morning, little one,” he says, “is Rich up?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nope,” he shakes his head, Henry peeking over his shoulder to see Richie’s sleeping form, “I’m hoping your reason for bugging us at 7:30 in the morning is a good one.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have a new hit for Richie,” Henry replies, “how about you do me a favor and wake him up for me?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll take a message,” Eddie replies coolly, staring at the older man. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know I can’t do that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You came and woke me up at this ungodly hour on a Sunday. Give me his hit or I close the door.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“God, you’re a brat. Haven't changed a bit,” Henry sighs, pulling out a notepad and scribbling the hit down on it. Eddie simply watches, leaning against the doorway. “Here, Eds.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Eddie snatches the paper and goes to close the door, only for his skinny wrist to be caught in Henry’s hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s still asleep,” he says softly, “if I take you back to my room, we can still-“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” Eddie says firmly, pulling his robe tighter around him. He knows it’s not… it’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He and Richie aren’t a couple, they’re just friends with benefits, so he could, but— </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“C’mon,” Henry raises an eyebrow, “unlike holier-than-thou snoring over there, I’ve wanted to fuck you since you were that pretty little sixteen year old.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He comes closer to Eddie’s ear, nipping his earlobe— “That’s what I meant when I said you haven’t changed.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And fuck, Eddie almost wants to go with him, forget about Richie and his stupid emotional idiocy, but… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Henry,” Eddie wriggles his wrist from his grasp, “Richie and I have gotta get the kiddos ready for church today.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Henry doesn’t even get a chance to laugh at his joke; Eddie shuts the door in his face, his cheeks burning. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Richie and I have gotta get the kiddos ready for church today. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s a funny idea— the two dressed up in their Sunday best, their arms linked as they step into a chapel. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Two kids at their feet, Eddie giggling with the women of the church as Richie boasts about his latest accomplishment at work to the men. A little home in a chloe-de-sac, a dog and </span>
  <em>
    <span>kids. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s heart pangs at the idea. It’s torturously out of reach, the idea of settling down, much less with Richie. Richie doesn’t even have feelings for him, and trying to keep him in one place for a while is like trying to catch a fish with your bare hands.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Still, it’s a nice thought, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Eddie thinks sadly as he crawls back into bed, staring at Richie’s back. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not too bad at all. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A few hours later, Richie wakes up to Eddie snoozing against his back, his hand curled over his bicep. He pushes him off gently, hoping to get ready for the day— Eddie doesn’t stir as he does, rolling over onto his back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He reads the note on the table, as well as hanging up Eddie’s discarded robe. His target is some lady in Maine, some child trafficker by the name of Sonia. Derry, that tiny town he met Eddie in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Never thought we’d go back to that shithole,” he murmurs to himself, starting up the coffee machine. Eddie mumbles to himself in his sleep, shifting around until he takes up the entire bed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s so pretty, so innocent. He’s always nonchalant, but he only looks truly at peace when he’s asleep, deep in the valleys of dreamland. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The hand he’d sliced open the night before looks brown and cracked, and Richie makes a mental note to force him to wrap it up later. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You don’t deserve any of this, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thinks to himself, kneeling down by the sleeping boy. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You could have had so much better than me. Than this life. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richie doesn’t deserve him, he knows. He knows Eddie deserves a happy, safe life, somewhere safe and secure. He deserves a future— he’s old enough to go to college, and definitely smart enough, even if he acts like he isn’t. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He should have someone who’s everything Richie isn’t. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Guilt crashes over the older man in waves, his knuckles clenching in the sheets. He needs to keep Eddie safe and sound, not let him do stupid shit like the stunt he pulled last night, not use his weapons as sex toys. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s lips move in his sleep, his eyelashes fluttering softly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Richie whispers, stroking a piece of hair off his cheek. “Baby, I’m so sorry.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stands and gathers his clothes, packing his few belongings into his suitcase. His gun is tucked neatly into the waistband of his jeans, and his shirt is messily half tucked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shucks a couple hundred dollar bills out from his wallet, and grabs a piece of paper. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve me. Please, go thrive. I love you, and I’m sorry I never told you to your face. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Richie</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sees Eddie begin to stir as he shuts the door behind him, already heading for the train station he knows is nearby. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>In another life, Eddie. I’m sorry. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I don't really use Tumblr much, but you can find me @sweetheartkaspbrak!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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